But the proles, if only
they could somehow become conscious of their own strength, would have no
reason to conspire. They needed only to rise up and shake
themselves, like a horse shaking off flies. If they chose, they could
blow the party to pieces tomorrow morning. Surely, sooner or
later, it must occur to them to do it? And yet . . .

-- George Orwell,
1984

I’ve
never understood the idea of speaking truth to power. The truth, surely,
is that in almost all countries of the world, political and economic
systems are designed to benefit only the rich and powerful, at the
expense of those with less money and power. This is how the world works,
and I see no reason to think that the powerful don’t already understand
that. After all, they designed it; they maintain it.

They steal our money,
sacrifice our children in their wars, send the poorest and most
victimized among us off to jail for petty mistakes, and crush those of
us who might present a real threat to the arrangement. They know we
don’t like it. They don’t care. They don’t need to care. They also
control most of our avenues of dissent. It’s a very simple, very elegant
design.

Meanwhile, we get angry and
toddle off to tell the truth to the powerful. We have been telling them
the truth for centuries. We travel to their great palaces by the
hundreds of thousands, to express our anger and despair. We shout and
sing and stomp and whine. We threaten. We plead. Sometimes we’re beaten
up, or sent to jail. It’s a tradition of great courage and personal
sacrifice, no doubt.

We go to tell them to stop
using our money and our children and our energy and intelligence to
further rob and rape and murder us. We tell them to be more respectful
and compassionate. We’re like angry but terrorized children, anxiously
scolding our stern, all-powerful parents. And, in the end, we look to
the Democrats or to some congressional panel or to the Supreme Court and
demand that they come to our aid. As my friend Harry puts it: “We’re
left in the terrible position of trying to decide which elite group will
be less likely to prey on us.”

Well, the government and
their pals are not going to stop using and abusing us. They’re not going
to stop preying on us. They cannot stop! Republican or Democrat, they
are rich and powerful precisely because they prey on us. They
are rich because they rob us. They’re robbing us right this minute.
They are powerful because they dominate every aspect of our lives,
because they’ve taken control of all the major social, political,
economic, and communication systems in the world. These systems were
designed to increase their wealth and power by taking both from all the
rest of us.

But, we are not children,
and they are not our parents. We’re not little people and they are not
big people. We’re not insignificant and they are not significant.
In fact, we do not
need them.

They are very few and we,
here in the US alone, are roughly 300 million. We don’t need
to rush out to tell the few that they are abusing the many. They already
know that. We need to stand upright and walk out to tell the many that
they are being slowly devoured by the few, for -- incredibly, they do
not know. We need to look to our next door neighbors, and to their next
door neighbors and to the folks all along the block. We need to tell the
truth to each other -- for we are the answer.

While hundreds of thousands
of anti-war demonstrators gathered in Washington, DC, back in September,
hundreds of millions of American citizens went about their business
without even a vague awareness of the protests. The media to which most
of them attend barely mention such things -- obviously. And, most
Americans don’t live in the DC area, so they didn’t see a thing.

Most Americans live in my
neighborhood, or in your neighborhood. Most Americans eat breakfast
right next to you in the local café. Most Americans get their car fixed
at the same garage as you and I do. Most Americans visit my library, my
bookstore, my grocery store, my local park -- or yours.

But the rich and powerful
have convinced us that we cannot -- we must not -- communicate with the
people we can see and hear and touch, right here, right now. They have
convinced us that we need to travel to some government office to
persuade elected officials and bureaucrats to change our world for
us. The government and media drone on, endlessly, hypnotically, and
convince us that if we just elect the right leaders, they’ll talk to our
next door neighbor for us.

Government programs, they
promise us, will fix that gaping hole in the pavement right out beyond
your driveway. Government will help poor Mrs. Wilson, languishing in the
old, dilapidated house right across the street. Government will settle
your dispute with that family right down the block. Government will
take care of your neighbors who can’t escape the hurricane:

“It’s OK, just hop in the
SUV and go, we’ll take care of everything!” Government will help;
government will heal; government will bring us together.

That’s not going to happen,
of course. The elites are too busy dividing us, setting us against each
other, exacerbating every animosity, every misgiving, every anxiety,
however slight. They insinuate themselves into every new crack and
crevice and offer convoluted, expensive legislation and bureaucracies to
bring us back together again. “There oughta be a law,” says the old
complaint. Well, there will be, to be sure -- but it will just make
things worse.

We’re all looking in the
wrong place for reason and compassion and justice. It’s not anywhere to
be found in Washington, DC. It’s not in governments or state
houses. It’s not there in that prestigious gathering of experts and big
brains.

It’s right here. It’s
wherever you are, and it’s right next door and it’s everywhere along
your street and all around your neighborhood. It’s in the cars that pass
you on the roadways and in the shops where you buy your dog or cat
food. There’s no need to travel a thousand or even a hundred miles.
It’s not necessary to make the climb up to the penthouse. Our hope, our
possibility -- our only hope, our only possibility, lies in the ordinary
people who compose our world, who are the very stuff of our lives.

Want to change the world?
Tell the truth to the plumber. Begin with the lady who hands you the
stamps at the post office. Talk with the checkout people at the
grocery store. Chat with the waiter at your favorite café. Speak with
the cops who sit down at the next table. Gab for a few minutes with the
guy who changes your oil or with the elementary school teacher with whom
you’ve been discussing your child’s future. Lean out of your window
while stopped at the light and tell the truck driver some truth he’s
certain to recall and ponder.

Feel the need to
march? Gather a bunch of folks and wander about your neighborhoods with
signs and leaflets. When people walk by, stop and gab with them. When
that huge guy with the Hemi-powered Ram pulls alongside and tells you to
“love it or leave it,” ask him to stay and talk. Smile, offer your hand,
make nice. He’s one of us. He’d make a wonderful ally. When a
carload of high school jocks slows to offer some single-fingered
communication, hand them some cold colas and tell them about the
probability of a draft. They’re our people, too. Convince
yourself that this is so, then convince them.

Get together with
like-minded people and think of simple, brief, meaningful ways to
communicate with the folks all around you. Think about little things,
easy things, immediate things. Think about what you can do together, and
what you might accomplish alone. Think about your real day-to-day life,
and how many opportunities there are to educate and enlighten, every
day. Blab and babble and blunder and tell the truth, one ordinary
person at a time. We’re all ordinary people, and we are our only hope.
Tell the truth to the guy who pumps out the septic tank -- he’s one of
us! Forget about telling the government, forget about the hot shots.

To the extent that we
believe we need them, exactly to that extent will we continue our
dependence upon ruthless, murderous plunderers, people entirely opposed
to our needs and deepest longings. As long as we believe we need them,
exactly that long will we live life on our knees, begging -- as
Mickey Z. says --
for crumbs from their table.

The depth of our apparent
need is the measure of their height above us. The nightmare of our
poverty is our dream that they have a right to take our money. The
illusion of our impotence is the chimera of their monstrous strength.
We shall be slaves as long as we’re convinced that we have masters, and
not one moment longer.

Time to wake up, time to
grow up. We’re not children. We do not need to ask permission to live
like sane, reasonable, thoughtful, compassionate human beings. We do not
need to beg or bow or kneel. We do not need to look to government or to
experts or to the rich and famous. Whatever we need, we can get it
ourselves. Whatever we want to stop -- we can stop it ourselves. Whatever must be done, we can do it ourselves. We do not need them; we
need each other.

All else is distraction and
delusion.

Joe Carpenter is a guy living in Southern Oregon who has
traveled extensively and kept his eyes open. He can be reached at:
joecarpenter@charter.net.